Future number ones?
The group froze at Anan's declaration, but she didn't elaborate immediately. Instead, she shifted to explaining the Gospel Book.
"The Gospel Book is a gift from the Omniscient Weaver, the cornerstone of our Gospel Civilization. In their infinite grace, the Weaver has bestowed upon us the truth of the Gospel, enabling us to discover our talents and find our purpose."
"Rankings," she continued, "are the Weaver's way of driving us forward and rewarding our efforts."
"There are currently 3,788 different rankings, including global, regional, individual, and organizational categories. These rankings span all magical disciplines, as well as mundane professions and unique accomplishments," Anan explained. "For example, the 'Azura Task Board' ranks local offices based on the number and quality of tasks they complete. My funeral office is ranked ninth—considered top-tier in the Azura region.
"There are also rankings like the 'Good Samaritan Board,' 'Singer's Board,' and even a 'String Cat's Cradle Board.' You don't need to be a sorcerer to make it onto the rankings."
The group couldn't help but glance at the only person present who wasn't ranked on anything. Ash, his face obscured by the Gospel Book he used to shield his shame, silently wallowed in regret.
Igula raised a hand to ask a question.
"Are there rankings for inventing tools, advancing technology, or improving city infrastructure?"
"Yes," Anan replied, glancing at the inverted cityscape visible through the windows. "There are rankings like the 'Pioneering Invention Board,' 'Corporate Board,' and 'Comprehensive City Board.'
"Banquet," she said, turning to her young butler. "How much has Azura changed in recent decades?"
"Miss, sixty years ago, Azura still used dry toilets. Thirty years ago, it wasn't even a two-tier city," Banquet replied with a nostalgia-laden sigh. "As a child, I never imagined I'd live to see an inverted skyscraper."
"Thanks to fierce competition on the boards, new inventions, tools, and designs emerge every second," Anan continued. "They're quickly implemented, reshaping our world at an incredible pace."
Was this the result of systemic superiority?
While the Blood Moon Kingdom's research-based structure had its merits—long-lived scholars could focus on fundamental breakthroughs without succumbing to short-term pressures—it seemed conservative by comparison. Over centuries, the Gospel Civilization had harnessed society-wide competition, leaving the Blood Moon Kingdom's gradual progress in the dust.
Igula wasn't done asking questions.
"The rewards for ranking well must be substantial to make people and organizations value them so much, right?"
"Points," Anan confirmed. "In the Gospel Civilization, points are the ultimate currency. With enough points, you can obtain anything you desire."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
Anan stretched out her hand, and a cluster of chilled, succulent grapes materialized in her palm. She popped one into her mouth, its juice bursting with flavor. "For example, you can trade points for a bunch of freshly chilled grapes."
"All tangible goods, all sorcerer spirits, all miracles—anything you can imagine is obtainable with enough points. There are only a few restrictions: you cannot harm others or break the law."
"Extending one's lifespan, healing fatal injuries, teleporting to a chosen location, or even acquiring a rare four-winged sorcerer spirit—all of this is possible."
Harvey was unimpressed.
"Must cost a fortune."
"It does," Anan admitted with a smirk. "This bunch of grapes cost enough points to buy a vineyard. Shēnyǐn, time for grapes."
The group turned, startled, as a pale yellow lizard with intelligent golden eyes crawled out from her shoulder. Its gaze darted around before it swiftly devoured the entire cluster, leaving only the stem.
"A Crimson Gold Dragon Lizard?" Igula whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
"A rare animal?" Ash asked.
"No, not rare—impossible." Harvey explained, his expression serious. "This creature originates from the Time Continent. It bonds with its owner and can travel between dimensions. In the virtual realm, it excels at capturing elusive sorcerer spirits, making it one of the most coveted pets."
For the first time, Ash, Igula, and Harvey began to reassess Anan's strength.
Her accomplishments in the "real world" were impressive, but this dragon lizard—a feat of the virtual realm—highlighted her status as a formidable sorcerer.
Anan gently stroked the dragon lizard's head as she continued, "The real value of points lies in purchasing guidance from the Gospel, a source of knowledge and insight."
"For example, if your magical progression has stalled, the Gospel can reveal the next steps. If your research hits a bottleneck, the Gospel identifies the problem. It can even help you uncover hidden talents or verify whether someone is lying."
While Ash found the Gospel akin to an advanced version of Wikipedia or Reddit, Igula and Harvey were floored.
To a real sorcerer, such guidance was invaluable. If the Gospel was truly created by a divine Weaver, then every citizen of the Gospel Civilization essentially carried a personal divine mentor.
"Forget the Blood Moon Kingdom," Igula thought. "I'm a Gospel citizen now!"
"How many sorcerers are there here?" Igula asked, his voice trembling.
"The proportion has declined in recent years," Anan replied, consulting her own Gospel Book. "Currently, 10.19% of the population are sorcerers."
"One in ten…" Harvey muttered. "The corpse resources here must be incredible…"
Anan dismissed the sentiment with a wave. "Don't get the wrong idea. Despite the high sorcerer ratio, none of you are especially strong. Back in your own kingdom, you wouldn't be considered exceptional two-wing sorcerers. Yet here, you've already claimed first and second place in your respective rankings."
She paused for emphasis.
"This should tell you that while the Gospel offers immense advantages on a societal level, it can be a double-edged sword for individuals."
"Because of diminished self-reliance," Ash interjected. "If people get used to relying on the Gospel for guidance, their ability to learn and adapt independently will atrophy. Over time, they may become so dependent that they're helpless without it—like house cats growing too lazy to chase mice."
"Exactly," Anan said, fiddling with the lizard's tiny claws. "We classify sorcerers as either 'Gospel Sorcerers' or 'Silent Sorcerers.'
"Most Gospel Sorcerers plateau at the two-wing stage. Even with Gospel guidance, they struggle to progress further."
"Only Silent Sorcerers—those who refuse to rely on the Gospel—have a real chance of reaching three wings."
"For example," Anan added, "you've met Cleo, the Red-Hat. She uses the Gospel sparingly—mainly to ask about her destined soulmate's whereabouts. Beyond that, she avoids it entirely."
"Wait," Ash interrupted, "the Gospel can tell you about your soulmate?"
"Of course," Anan replied with a shrug. "Though often the answer is no. A 'destined soulmate' is someone you'll love at first sight, without any need for adjustment. Many people die waiting for such a partner."
At this, Lis piped up, "Looks like I'll never have a mom."
Lis nodded solemnly. "It's okay. I think having a second dad is more likely."
"Fair point," Harvey said, nodding sagely.
"Now that you understand the Gospel's power," Anan concluded, "you'll see how ambitious my plan is—and why I'm gambling everything on you."
Her tone sharpened. "What I'm about to tell you must not leave this room."
She locked eyes with Ash, unnervingly intense. Ash's mind spiraled into wild scenarios about how she might exploit him.
Before he could vocalize his growing unease, Lis mimicked zipping her lips shut.
"Dad, I won't tell anyone!"
Once assured of their silence, Anan began.
"Do you know what my office's main business is?"
"Transporting half-dead bodies," Ash quipped.
"Kidnapping," Igula added.
"Biological shipping," Harvey deadpanned.
Anan raised an eyebrow. "That's one way to look at it. Let me clarify."
She leaned back, her gaze calculating.
"Our job boils down to exploiting, researching, and profaning the Gospel's loopholes."
Her voice grew cold, yet confident.
"We profane the Gospel."